


Spellbound

by sparksofwrite



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blasphemy, Crisis of Faith, F/F, I'm Going to Hell, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, and so is Christa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:37:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1833148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparksofwrite/pseuds/sparksofwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christa's life is all about keeping up appearances. To her parents, she believes in their Catholic faith. To her friends, she believes in their spellbooks and ouija boards. She comes to realize, after she accidentally summons up the demon queen Ymir, that she's somewhere in between. </p><p>Originally a kinkmeme fill titled "Malleus Maleficarum."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spellbound

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt + fill: http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/8414.html?thread=7672286#cmt7672286

When her mother insisted that Christa needed to spend more time with friends, this was probably not what she had in mind.

 _Not what she had in mind_  is an understatement. If her mother knew exactly what was happening at this sleepover, she'd probably never let Christa out of the house again.

One might imagine that the rough patches on Christa's knees and the scapular nestled between her breasts indicate a sort of devotion— that is, a passion for the church where she has spent the last fifteen years of her life. This is incorrect. She recites prayers and crosses herself mindlessly, putting on the best show she possibly can, hoping her shallow faith can pass as deep belief.

But there are days where Christa cannot even fake piety, and these are the days she turns to her on-again, off-again friends.

They are the type her mother and father would greatly dislike. They are the ones who taught Christa how to smoke a cigarette, which didn't really work in the end, since she couldn't stop coughing. They taught her how to give a boy blue balls just from kissing him, which left her feeling gross and confused for reasons she couldn't explain— Reiner wasn't a bad guy, so why did kissing him make her feel so repulsed? They taught her how to not feel guilty about ignoring homework, though she really does enjoy science class, and how to sneak out of the house at night, though she never has fun when she does it. The last thing they taught her occurred the first time she slept over at Annie's house with the rest of them, with her almost beginning to feel like she belonged.

Annie pulls a thick, worn-looking book off her shelf, tossing it into Mina's hands. Mina grins, eagerly opening the front cover, flipping through pages scribbled over in Annie's chicken-scratch script. Mikasa and Sasha lean in close, clearly excited about this development. It's near midnight.

They all seem to remember at once that Christa isn't familiar with this particular tradition, and they look at her with maniacal gleams in their eyes. "You wanna learn?" Annie asks, sitting down.

"Learn what?" Christa replies.

"Magic," Mikasa answers simply, tucking a lock of shiny black hair behind her ear.

Christa catches a laugh behind her teeth. Sasha takes her hesitation as fear, saying, "It's just for fun, you know. We could show you some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" she says.

The other four girls give each other knowing glances, and Christa feels almost threatened.

"Come outside," Annie says, "And we'll show you."

Five minutes later, Christa trudges behind them through Annie's backyard. The summer air is sticky and thick, choking her. Even the fireflies move lethargically, as if tangled in the web of the moonlit night.

Soon they come to a small shed. Annie opens the latch holding the heavy door closed and tugs it open. Before Christa knows it, she has a candle in her grip and a hand pushing her toward the open door. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Go on," Mikasa says from behind her. Once Christa has stumbled through the doorway and is standing in the middle of the room, she looks around. It's dark, too dark to see anything, really, but the shimmer of a mirror in front of her is unmistakable. Annie follows her in, wielding a lighter.

"Hold out the candle," she commands. When Christa does so, she carefully lights the wick and puts the book in her other hand. She begins to leave before Christa stops her.

"Wait," she says. "Where are you going? What is this?"

"Open to the first dog-eared page and read," Annie instructs her, stepping out of the shed and into the yard. "We'll be right out here. If it all works, you'll see a demon."

"Are you kidding?" Christa tries to ask, but the creaking of the closing door drowns out her words.

 _Great,_ she thinks. _This is stupid. They're probably listening, too. God dammit, how am I supposed to see or read this shit?_  She sighs heavily, kneeling on the floor as if readying herself for prayer. Holding the candle in one hand, she flicks the pages aside until she reaches the page Annie seems to have been talking about.

(The other girls giggle as they quietly slide the latch back into place, locking the shed from the outside.)

There's some Latin written down. Something in English annotates the page, but it's Annie's handwriting, which is somehow more difficult than the printed Latin. She looks up at her dim reflection in the mirror, feeling more foolish by the second. Whatever. She begins to read.

(The girls laugh more openly the closer to the house they get, leaving Christa behind.)

Latin is all blunt edges in her mouth; she's never been good at it, no matter how often she heard it through church or in school. She tries her best at the sounds until she reaches the end of the incantation. She feels silly, then, and begins to stand up. She has just caught sight of her own irritated expression in the mirror when she notices something else, a grinning face, over her shoulder. Her eyes widen as the candle's flame suddenly extinguishes itself in a puff of smoke.

Christa stands perfectly still, her heartbeat beginning to accelerate.  _I'm imagining things,_ she thinks, _that was nothing. That was nothing that was nothing that was just an illusion. I am science and reason and that was absolutely nothing._  She assures herself of this as she drops the candle, leaving the book on the floor and moving towards the door to the shed. When she pushes, the door doesn't give. "Okay," she says aloud. "That's enough. L-let me out now."

Her heartbeat doesn't slow down when she stammers, and in fact only pulses more rapidly as no answer comes. The air she sucks into her lungs is thick with heat and silence, and she begins to hyperventilate as the floor creaks, as if with footsteps other than her own.

In a last effort to stay calm, she sinks to her knees, pressing her palms together, positioning the tips of her fingers under her chin, and begins in barely a whisper. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee," are the last words from her lips before a clammy hand seals itself over her mouth.

"Stop fucking praying," someone hisses in her ear.

Christa nods, wide-eyed, straining against the darkness. She doesn't dare to move. Her heart seems to have stopped, but somehow she feels calmer that way than when its beat knocked in her chest. When she inhales through her nose, she can smell the hand over her mouth, and she tells herself that she definitely isn't catching the scent of ash.

"Thanks," they say.

Christa murmurs something against their hand.

"What's that?" They remove their hand from her face, leaving their elbow on Christa's shoulder. The voice is vaguely feminine.

"How long have you been there?" Christa asks, not turning around.

"Are you kidding?" They repeat Christa's words back at her, and that's how she is sure. "Thirty seconds. Then you got all scared and tried to run."

"No, you've been here since I came in. Are you friends with Annie? I think they locked me in, so are you all trying to scare me? It's not going to work," she lies as confidently as possible, pointedly ignoring the sweat on her face and the way her heart has only just begun to beat normally again.

"Is this how you treat every demon you summon?" They ask irritably.

"I didn't summon any demon," Christa says, getting the courage to slowly detangle herself from this person's grasp. Their arm falls away easily, and she turns around, despite not being able to see anything. "You're all just fucking with me."

Suddenly Christa can see by the light of a candle in front of her face. She steps back a little before looking up. Before her is a perfectly normal human girl, barely older than she herself. She has dark hair, tanned skin and youthful freckles— there's nothing even vaguely demonic about her. Even the slightly elongated canines exposed by her smirk could belong to any human. That is, until Christa looks into her eyes, which seem to be a bright yellow. It's the lighting, or lack thereof, she tells herself. It's just the candle. But…

"Where's your lighter?" She asks.

The girl's grin fades, leaving a slightly puzzled expression. "Huh?"

"Your lighter, or matches or something. You lit the candle, where's the lighter?"

There's a snap and fire, suddenly, just inches from Christa's nose. She gasps, jumping back and probably getting cobwebs in her hair when she presses against the wall. In front of her is this girl, smirk renewed, lit candle in one hand and the other… it's impossible. The other hand's fingers have just snapped a flame into existence, suspended above her palm.

Christa gapes. "How are you doing that?"

"You literally have no idea what you've done, do you?" The girl doesn't sound particularly amused, and her smile is more dangerous than amiable. "Even if you aren't doing it on purpose, you are wasting my time." She pulls her hand away, letting the flame dissipate.

"…I'm sorry?" Christa says. "Look, if you and Annie would just let me out of here, I'll go home and we never have to see each—"

"You think you're leaving now? Look, kid," she begins, and Christa thinks  _who the hell are you calling a kid what are you sixteen seventeen?,_  "You're fucking with the wrong demon."

"You're not a demon."

She scoffs. "Not sure how I'm supposed to convince you, and I'm really not sure I have the patience."

"Then just let me—"

"You're not getting it," she interrupts. "My name is Ymir. I'm a big fucking deal, and if you summoned me just so you could play dumb, I may as well kill you right now."

Christa isn't used to considering that she might be wrong, but at this moment, with this fire-producing girl in her face calling herself a demon, she's getting there.

"Alright," she says a little weakly. "No need to threaten me. What do you want?"

The girl— her name is Ymir?— narrows her eyes. "You called me here. What is it that you want?"

"I— They just told me to read from this book. Maybe that's what it was?" She steps around Ymir, feeling around with her foot until she kicks the book. She picks it up. "I didn't mean to call you."

"That's literally impossible," Ymir says, holding the candle over the book. "There's writing on it. Have your friends tried this spell before?"

"I don't know."

"They might have figured that since it didn't work for them, it wouldn't work for you. And then they locked you in because they're cunts."

Christa's uncertainty makes her feel silly. She decides that she's only humoring them all because she has no other choice, and says, "So why did it work for me? I've never done this before."

"No idea. You're supposed to be, like, really powerful magically to summon the demon queen, and no offense, but you don't look it."

She bristles at the insult before remembering she shouldn't be mad because it isn't an insult  _because this is all a trick they're playing on her and should not be taken seriously._ Christa mentally slaps herself. Demon queen? Could they get more ridiculous?

"Actually," Ymir continues, "Only one person is supposed to be able to summon me. Your name's not Historia, is it?"

Christa freezes. After a moment of collecting her thoughts, she whispers, "No. My name is Christa."

She snorts a laugh. "Hah, Christa. Okay, follower of Christ, even if you don't want anything, you owe me for making me come all the way up here."

"Why did you even come if it's such an inconvenience?" The last few seconds have shaken her certainty even more, and she can't keep her voice from trembling.

Ymir sighs heavily, as if she's about to explain something extraordinarily simple to someone extraordinarily dumb. "I can't just ignore someone who's summoning me specifically. You might have been Historia, all ready to sell your soul, and I couldn't take the chance of ignoring her."

"Who is this Historia person?" Christa asks.

Ymir grins. "You think only God gets somebody at their right hand?"

"So… Historia's your daughter?"

Ymir's grin disappears as she wrinkles her nose. "Don't be stupid. Historia's gonna be my wife."

Christa's heartbeat stumbles. She clears her throat. "Um, okay. So what do you want me to do?"

"You could come back to Hell with me," Ymir suggests. "You're absurdly powerful, apparently. I could find someplace for you."

This is the final, stupid straw for Christa, glowing eyes and mystery fire and bizarre knowledge of personal details be damned. She ignores how ridiculous she feels for even having considered that this girl is telling the truth, and smirks up at this friend of Annie's. "Sure. Whatever. Take me there."

Ymir's grin is the last thing she sees before the candle fizzles out, and all of a sudden she has that cold hand around her wrist, pulling her in the direction of the mirror.

"The door is that way," Christa says, helpfully pointing with her other hand despite the darkness.

"It sure is." And Ymir pulls Christa in front of her, shoving her hard toward the mirror. Christa trips over her own feet, gasping, but then she falls— and when she falls, she doesn't hit the glass.

Christa's descent is terrifying and quick. Everything is pitch black and she screams into the void, her throat going raw. She feels herself falling faster until she isn't anymore, it's hard to explain— it's almost like she's slowing down, but gravity says that's not possible. Is any of this possible? Could she be falling so fast that it only feels like she's slowing to a stop?

And the answer is no, she realizes, the air is no longer roaring past her ears and there's no longer a weightless feeling in her stomach. She lands on her back, soft and painless, catching her breath.

The ground shakes as Ymir lands heavily on her feet, and there's a second soft thump as her knees hit the ground. Christa looks over.

"Oh. You didn't pass out," Ymir sounds impressed.

Christa is too bewildered to form a coherent response in her head, so she sits up, looks around. The sky is dark, but it's possible to see by the light of the scattered flames. There are cracks in the ground where fires climb through, illuminating the area. It's nothing but bare stone and fire and smoke and night, as far as she can see. Her eyes begin to sting from the smoke and sulfur.

"Where are we?" She asks finally.

"Hell. My domain," Ymir declares with a smile in her voice. "What, weren't you listening?"

"Am I dreaming?"

"You and your complete fucking denial of everything that happens around you," Ymir mutters. "No, you aren't."

Christa feels numb. She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she stands. "Okay. What now?"

Ymir stands, too, and she's much taller than Christa, who doesn't appreciate having to look up at her. "We go home and you can get to work."

"Doing what?"

Ymir begins to walk away, and Christa follows close behind, despite not being able to see any destination. It's just fire and smoke in every direction. "Fortifying the castle, or protecting me personally. Maybe both, if you turn out to be really good with magic. You probably will be." She says it so offhandedly, like this whole experience hasn't been a stupid joke. A nightmare.

As Christa flinches away from a crack in the ground that suddenly spews fire, she realizes it might not have been. "You need to take me back," Christa says, stepping delicately around the flames. She can imagine the soles of her shoes are melting.

Ymir scoffs. "What for? You agreed to come here."

The words _I'd never have agreed if_ bubble up, and she's ready to argue that she hadn't been able to take Ymir seriously, until she thinks. "How do I know you didn't use your demon powers or whatever, and manipulate me?"

Ymir turns around. Christa stops walking at the angry look on her face. "Do you think I just take smartasses like you to Hell with me for the fun of it?" She snarls. "I wish I didn't need you here. But I do."

"What do you need me for?" Christa asks.

"I'm weak," Ymir says with an infuriated reluctance, as if she hates so much as admitting it. Her hands tangle in her own hair, and she pulls in frustration. "Demons aren't strong. We can't force you to do anything, and we don't have," she searches for the words, "Cosmic power, or whatever, we don't know everything and we can't control fate."

Christa watches as Ymir goes from anger to rage. The fires around them seem to get hotter, climb higher into the air.

"I can do, what? Smoke-and-mirrors-type shit. That's my magic. And then you can summon the fucking demon queen. That must mean you can protect me, too, right? So I need you," she finishes, gesturing vaguely in her direction, not looking her in the eye.

Christa decides she has nothing to lose. She's in Hell, in the company of the demon queen. If this is all a dream, she'll pray for forgiveness in the morning, forgiveness for her subconscious having chosen to come here. "Are you telling me this so I'll pity you and stay?"

"I don't need your fucking pity!" The fire begins to singe at Christa's hair and clothes. Now she's starting to think of how to calm Ymir down. Ymir's teeth are bared, her fists are clenched, and her voice carries over the crackling of the flames. "I just need your magic."

"Look," Christa begs, patting at her clothes, feeling for flames. "I really don't think I can do anything for you. I'm not magical or special or talented. I'm not powerful. Please believe me."

"You're fucking delusional," Ymir laments, covering her face with her hands in sudden exasperation, her rage appearing to evaporate. "You act like you're not seeing what's directly in front of you." She pauses, peeks out from between her fingers. After a moment, her mouth turns up at the edges.

"What?" Christa says cautiously.

The next thing that happens is such a blur that her nightmares of the incident will be incomplete. She sees Ymir take a hand away from her face, bring it to her mouth, and bite, drawing blood. Then there's something like a lightning strike— impossible heat, bright light— and she's on the ground, thrown back by the force of it. When she opens her eyes next, Ymir isn't standing before her.

Its face and body are vaguely humanoid. The rest of it is huge, ugly. It has dark hair and black eyes, claws and sharp teeth the size of her hands, she notices from very, very close as it crouches over her. Christa can't breathe. It could eat her in a single bite.

The creature growls. It doesn't make any motion to attack her, but it doesn't move away.

It's all so impossible. She feels despair sink into her limbs, making them heavy. Horror tangles her thoughts together, making logical reasoning impossible, and in this moment, all her denial has been to avoid the reality: that she's made a huge mistake. In this moment, everything the Church has said is true. There are demons, there's a God, and she has absolutely positively irreversibly turned away from their Christ and followed this demon queen into the dark. She is as good as dead.

Christa hates herself for what she does next: her throat swells, her hands cover her face, her knees fold close to her body, and she begins to sob, right there on the ground before she can stop herself.

It stops growling. As she cries, she can feel its hugeness move away from her, and there's a gruesome, wet tearing noise, like skin ripping. She doesn't look up, but the sound alone is nauseating.

"Hey," Ymir says after a few moments of this.

Christa still doesn't take her hands away from her face, but she does try to stop crying.

Ymir pokes Christa's arm as the terrified girl tries to breathe. "Come on, I didn't mean to scare you." Christa looks up in disbelief. Ymir's face is close, and she has a sort of thoughtful expression when she says, "Well, okay, I totally meant to scare you, but I didn't mean to make you cry. Jesus."

Christa blinks away leftover tears. The carcass of the creature lies a few yards away, a huge hole torn in the back of its neck.

Ymir stands up, reaching down with one hand. "Let's go. It's not safe here."

Ymir's open hand is in front of Christa's eyes. She recalls the time Annie and the other girls got into palm reading. She hadn't believed in any of that either, but she'd allowed them to teach her. She can see a curved life line and a deep, long head line before she looks away, pushing Ymir's hand out of her face. "I can stand by myself."

"Whatever." Ymir shrugs. "But yeah, smoke and mirrors. And that."

"Don't do that again." Christa brushes her clothes off, wipes her face. The fires have shrunk back to normal height and heat.

"Whatever," she says again, and begins to walk, leaving Christa with no choice but to follow and pray.

She prays that Ymir isn't truly as barbaric as she's acted. She prays for her safety, if not her happiness. She prays for the life she's left behind on Earth. She prays to a God who probably doesn't believe in her, anymore.

And she wonders why her prayers feel exactly as hollow as ever, like screaming into the void, like she might not regret everything. She wonders whether this is the end or the beginning.


End file.
